


Among the Fallen Flowers

by ausmac



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28659435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: Hope can be taken away and even the best lives can be shattered.  A post "Sylvanas' Choice' piece.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	Among the Fallen Flowers

_“You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming.”_ _  
―_ **_Pablo Neruda_ **

****

Sylvanas Windrunner paused on the threshold of the balcony. A short distance away a familiar figure stood, bent forward with hands resting on the parapet. Empathy was not her strongest sense but she thought he looked dejected. Not without reason, given the circumstances.

She knew he had felt her entry, the same way she could now sense him, though the link they both shared. Stepping forward, she walked carefully closer. Carefully, because any newly made weapon was just a little unpredictable. She stopped before the parapet an arm's length from him and sensed the low hum of the great sword strapped to his back. Though it had not been made for her and had not affected her, she sensed it recognised her. There was nothing human in that recognition. It was coolly, almost gently malevolent.

She wondered how it spoke to its intended keeper, who had been changed so much. The young king was no longer wearing the rather garish blue and gold armour of the Alliance but was instead wrapped in dark gold from neck to toe, all spikes and skulls and brutality, so much at odds to his nature.

Anduin turned his head towards her. His eyes, once blue, were now glowing silver, as bright as the glow from Shalamourne. The tips of his blonde hair had turned white and she suspected that in time he would be as silvered as she was. As Arthas had been.

Motionless, he studied her for some moments and then he blinked, twice, and some expression came to his pale features. "I was almost right about hope. I never gave it up but I did have it torn from me. Does that make you any happier? Can you even feel happiness anymore?"

She didn't respond to that, she doubted he expected her to. "How are you coping?"

His lips quirked. "Coping?" Anduin straightened and turned to her and she resisted the urge to step back. "Let's see: I am constantly hungry but food does not satisfy me. Nothing I drink makes me any less thirsty. And I am in pain – every – single – moment." He shrugged, causing Shalomourne to mutter. "But other than that, I'm just great."

Sylvanas sucked in a deep breath and slowly exhaled it. Anduin's state was almost unique – he had not died and been remade as Death Knights (and Forsaken) were. She had controlled him and forced the mourneblade into his hand and at that moment it had bonded with him, tearing a link into his mind and soul, overwhelming his will. He was alive but changed, remade to be a more suitable partner for the sword he bore, for the purpose the Jailer intended. As such, his mortal body was under tremendous pressure that might eventually either send him mad, or kill him, or both.

How long he could sustain his mind and body in the face of that unrelenting pressure she did not know. And she suspected the Jailer didn't care if his weapon eventually shattered – as long as it carried out his plans before then. Her duty was clear; assist him in that purpose and keep him whole and sane as long as possible. And they both now knew what that purpose was.

"I have been wanting to return to Azeroth for so long," he said, tone almost musing. "and now it's the last thing I want to do. To go back home and destroy it, tear the soul of my world out and present it to Him like a tasty treat." She saw him sag, clutch the papapet and shake as his features twisted in pain. "I…cannot…I…"

Uncaring, she pushed out her hand and grabbed his arm. "Stop it! Stop resisting. It will destroy your mind if you do. Just..stop."

Eventually the shaking eased and a little colour returned to his face. He straightened, eyes blazing and his head turned slowly towards. "Take..your hand…off me…"

That was a voice she had never heard from his lips, a voice of cold, deadly rage. Right then, he was as powerful as her. A small voice suggested possibly even more powerful, boosted by the raw energy of the sword's heart. So she lifted her hand and straightened but didn't back away. She kept her own voice even. "I speak for Him in this. You will not break. You will keep to the path. In the end, we will all be free. You must be patient. You must wait – and you must not…"

"Free" he said, turning away from her, calmer. "Free of what? Even if I die, I will not be free. My soul will come here, probably back to this Maw to suffer eternally for whatever horrors he has me unleash. Does death give you freedom?" 

She winced. He was indeed a weapon with a very sharp and accurate edge. There was nothing more she could say because if hope existed at all for them both, she had no idea where it lay. The Path, that had seemed to show such promise, had become a great deal darker.


End file.
